Of all things, drawing helped. I went that night to a bar/restaurant called the Busy Bee, mostly because I had heard in Kathmandu—from other travelers—that nights in Pokhara always seem to end up there. But the Busy Bee is not my sort of place—the upstairs doubles as Pokhara's motorcycle bar, and while it's a big place it does have two tvs playing two different satellite sports channels, and a generic cover band in an alcove filled with cushions and low tables. I would really like to make some pronouncement like You Haven't Really Lived Till You've Heard a Nepali Cover Band Mangle the Words to Tom Petty, but really, you have. So mostly I sat at the Busy Bee at a table that occasionally smelled of gasoline leaking from the squadron of motorcycles parked before the stairs down, and doodled on the back of a pink flyer for rafting, perhaps, or kayaking, or one of the many tourist services in town. I drew shapes, the same shapes I always draw, and left the flyer on the table.
I drew more at the Noble Inn, this time circles, thinking of an artist friend-of-a-friend who does the same. And it helped, though shapes: they were like rock, solid and tangible and indifferent, especially indifferent.
Date and time information to be changed so that the addendum doesn't appear oddly before the mass of the article...
No comments:
Post a Comment